


Outside of the Box

by TriplePirouette



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriplePirouette/pseuds/TriplePirouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a lot more to Steve and Peggy than what people might believe at first glance. Written for SteggyWeek2k16 - “Shared life experience/parallels”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside of the Box

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure that this strictly fulfills the prompt, but this is what my brain cooked up. This can fit in the same universe as “The Good Doctor” or “A Small Respite.”

 

To anyone else, Peggy would have looked cold and stoic. In that second, when she walked out of the Colonel’s tent, anyone would have said she was just being professional, as professional as any woman on the front lines had to be, but Steve had seen that expression before. Steve knew that face: the tight draw of her lips, the little twitch of her jaw that meant she was clenching her teeth, the wrinkle in her brow… Peggy was livid.

 

He avoided a patch of mud and marched right up to her, calm and collected. “Agent Carter, a moment of your time?”

 

She barely looked at him, her tone tight and clipped. “Of course, Captain Rogers.” He tipped his head and they fell in step together, dodging service men until they made their way to the supply tent. Steve held the flap as she entered, ducking inside after her to head swiftly to the left side of the tent where he checked the portable racks for any other personnel that might have been in there while Peggy quickly checked the right side. They met without a word at the back of the tent, and Steve quickly untied and held open the heavy canvas flap for Peggy, sneaking quietly behind her into the woods on the outskirts of their camp.

 

She didn’t speak, just marched along at a quick pace. It was all he could do to keep up with her as she made her way deeper into the tree line. She only stopped a hundred or so yards out when they reached a small clearing. She was huffing with frustration and annoyance, her eyes red rimmed. “Hand me that stick.” Peggy pointed to what was more akin to a robust branch than a stick next to Steve, her eyes on the piece of wood, steeled with determination.

 

Without a word, Steve lifted it from the ground, brushed off the worst of the dirt from the forest floor, and handed it to her.

 

“They’ve sidelined me. Again.” Peggy weighed the branch in her hands, learning the feel of it as she spoke. She didn’t look at Steve, didn’t wait for a response when she got a good grip on the wood. “Said that I can’t go out with you to the Alps.” Peggy whirled as she spoke, taking her branch and cracking it hard against the stout tree next to her. “Said they need me here,” she mumbled, winding up again like a batter at the plate, “but I’m sure any other woman on this base would be just as able to get them coffee and file their paperwork!” She let another swing go and made contact with a sickening crack of wood.

 

Steve shied away from the spray of splinters and bark Peggy was creating, but didn’t say anything. He’d felt this before, the need to lash out, the need to break something. He watched as she swung again and again, a few stray tears slipping down her face. Finally, she cracked her makeshift bat in half, the wood splintering around the tree and falling to the forest floor.

 

Peggy looked at the splintered branch in her hands, breathing hard. Steve just picked up another fallen limb from the forest floor, offering it to her. “Another?”

 

Peggy let the branch she was holding slip from her hand, her shoulders slumping in defeat as the anger left her, exhausted. “No.”

 

He slowly stepped over to her, taking her hands gently in his and turning them over to look at her palms. He let go of one, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. “You know, I think we’ve got a punching bag somewhere on base if it’ll keep you from killing trees.” He gently brushed away the dirt, revealing angry red scratches from where the wood dug at her palms.

 

Peggy’s laugh was tight, but still genuine. “I’ll keep it in mind next time.”

 

She tried to pull her hand back as Steve dug out a splinter, squeaking with the unexpected jolt of pain. “Sorry,” he mumbled, holding her hand tight and slowly pulling out the sliver. “Next time we’ll get you a Louisville slugger- less likely to splinter in your palms.” At her quizzical look he clarified, “A baseball bat.”

 

“Ahh,” Peggy said, a small smile lighting her face for the first time. “That game that’s far inferior to cricket, you mean.”

 

He used the handkerchief to clean both palms the best he could. “Funny.” He raised his eyebrows at her, kissing each palm gently before he dropped her hands and took a step closer. He found a clean corner of the soft cotton in his hands and went about drying her cheeks, erasing the lines of the few errant tears she’d shed. “Feel better?”

 

Peggy looked at him for a moment as he stowed his handkerchief back in his pocket, teeth nobbling on her lower lip. Without a second thought, she rushed against him, wrapping her arms tight around him. His arms wound around her, his head dropping low to sit next to hers, and she finally felt like she could breathe again. “Yes, now I feel better.”

 

Steve held her. He held her for long, quiet moments that ticked by both too fast and too slow. They’d go back to base soon, far sooner than either would want, and have to stand a certain number of inches away, have to talk a certain way to one another, have to be a certain way- but in the forest, out here outside the base, he could hold her and she could cling to him and they could pretend, even for just one moment, they were a regular couple.

 

“I’m just so sick of it,” Peggy finally mumbled, tucking her forehead under his chin, languishing in the protective embrace of his arms. “Even Phillips, sometimes, just will say the most infuriating things.”

 

“What do you expect, Peg?”

 

His response, calm and sure, was not what she wanted to hear. “Pardon?”

 

“You’re a woman just like I was a ninety pound asthmatic.” Steve sighed and pushed back, waiting until he caught her eyes. “People will put you in boxes based on what they think you can do. For some of them, it doesn’t matter how many times you prove yourself, you’re still going to be in that box in their minds until you decimate it.”

 

Peggy pursed her lips, the fire building within her again. “Steve that’s-“

 

“Ok, it’s different. It’s not the best analogy, it’s not perfect.” He shrugged, running his hands up and down her arms. “We both know it’s true that if any of them there just saw you, really saw you for what you can do, you’d be on the commandos, fighting with us every step of the way… if that’s what you wanted.” Peggy sighed and looked away, attempting to keep the tears from forming again.

 

Steve ducked, trying to get her attention, but Peggy just looked at their feet. “Right, well… did you know I can sew?” Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “You name it, I can hem it, darn it, mend it, or even make it from scraps and a pattern.” He shrugged, laughing a bit as Peggy’s mouth hung wide. “Not something you’d expect from Captain America, huh?”

 

Peggy narrowed her eyes at him, seeing where he’d caught her frustrated logic. “Well, no, but…”

 

He smiled gently, squeezing her shoulders. “No. I bet if you asked anyone on the base or the home front, sewing would not be a skill they’d assign to me, and yet, I can. Probably better than half the seamstresses in New York, too.”

 

Peggy smiled. “Ok, I get your point. We all put people in boxes. They have me in the ‘she can get coffee and not fight’ box, and everyone in the world has you in the ‘he can fight but why on God’s green earth would he know how to sew’ box.” Peggy huffed out a deep breath. “I hate it when you’re right.”

 

“Keep showing them. They’re not right for keeping you from where you can be helping, from keeping you from what you do best. Keep showing. I’ll help. But don’t give up.” He stepped back and held out his arm. “Take a walk with me?”

 

Peggy threaded her arm through his, wrapping her free hand around his bicep and leaning into his arm as they slowly strolled away from the scene of her fit. “Well?” she asked innocently.

 

Steve looked down at her, side stepping a small tree. “Well, what?”

 

Peggy looked up at him, wide eyed. “Well, you can’t say you sew better than half the seamstresses in New York and then not follow up. How did you learn?”

 

Steve’s cheeks turned bright red for a moment as he looked at his feet, keeping the slow march forward moving along. “Oh. Well…” He took a deep breath and looked straight ahead, his gaze miles and years away. “My mom was a nurse, but after my father died she couldn’t get enough shifts to keep things afloat, you know? So, she’d take in sewing from the neighbors. She’d spend eight hours at the hospital, then spend the rest of the day and most of the night mending, sewing, and ironing for the neighbors while I did my homework at the kitchen table.” He shrugged, still miles away in the memory. “It kept things going for a while.”

 

“And after a while?” Peggy’s words were soft like a caress.

 

Steve’s voice dropped as well, the memory slightly more painful than he’d like to think. “She wore herself out, then she got sick.” He took a deep breath, and covered her hand on his arm with his. “She stopped working at the hospital, and all we had to keep us going was the sewing. She took in as much as she could, but she could only go so fast. She taught me simple things at first, but then as she could do less and less, she taught me everything she knew. I spent all day at school and all night pricking my fingers, helping her so we’d have enough money for rent for next month.”

 

Peggy stopped, turning to him. “Steve, I didn’t know…”

 

He kissed her forehead gently, moving them forward once again. “Almost no one knows.” He scuffed his boot in the underbrush, sending dirt out in front of them. “I stopped after she died. I couldn’t…” He took a deep breath, looking up at the reflection of the sunset in the clouds. “I couldn’t.”

 

They walked quietly for a moment, rounding the small boulder that they’d stopped at often for passionate embraces, heading back towards the base. Peggy let one hand drift out, pulling a feather from where it had caught on a branch and played with it in her hands. “I can’t sew.”

 

Steve turned, looking at her with just the start of a smile on the corner of his lips. “Really?”

 

“Not a stitch,” she confessed. “Every time my nan tried to teach me I acted a right prat and she’d get frustrated and send me out to play with my brother.”

 

Steve picked the feather from her fingers and tickled Peggy under her chin with it. “Why am I not surprised?” He joked, smiling as she cringed away and grabbed the feather back.

 

“Most other men would be,” she ran the feather through her fingers then tossed it over her shoulder. She stopped, turning him to look at her. “Most other men cringe when I tell them I can’t sew or iron properly and tell me I better learn if I want to catch a husband. Yet you… you’ve seen me beat Dugan in one armed push ups and watched me fire a gun then slog through a half mile of mud and you’re still…” Peggy shook her head, for the first time voicing what she felt so often.

 

“I’m still completely in love with you, Peggy Carter.” Steve smiled at her, taking each hand in his and kissing her knuckles before he wound her tight in his embrace and kissed her passionately. He pulled back just enough to look in her dazed eyes. “You can do the push-ups and play in the mud, I’ll do the sewing and ironing. How does that sound?”

 

Peggy hummed, kissing him once again for good measure. “Marvelous, darling,” she replied when she pulled away, twining their hands together and slowly moving them ever closer to base. As they returned to the clearing where she’d smashed the branch against the tree she stopped him. “How did you do that?”

 

“Do what?” He asked, unmoving.

 

Peggy gestured toward the splintered pieces of wood where she’d had her breakdown. “We’ve been out here maybe a half hour and you’ve managed to turn my afternoon completely around.”

 

Steve winked at her. “Seamstresses secret.”

 

She playfully smacked his arm, but he grabbed her hand and flipped it over. “I almost forgot about these.” He pulled her other hand up, examining the angry red scratches again. “We need to get these cleaned up, Peg.”

 

Peggy nodded, her cheerful mood taking a downturn. “I suppose. I just… I don’t want to go back quite yet.”

 

Steve nodded, running his thumbs around the edges of her palms. He held her hands gently in his as he tipped his head back to the well-worn path they’d tracked into the brush. “Alright then… one more lap?”

 

Peggy slipped her hands from his, holding out her arm to him. “One more lap.” Steve walked a little slower than before, which she was happy for, and she leaned against him, content in this moment with the base and the army just a memory for now. “So,” Peggy wondered out loud, “What other special talents do you have?”

 

Steve’s smile was just sly enough that Peggy knew there was a lot more to Steve than what he seemed… just like her.

 

 

 

 


End file.
